It was a warm autumn night and Ethan was taking a rare moment of solitude, perching on the concrete wall outside of the hospital, drinking in the quiet around him. It had been an exhausting day, which he had spent navigating both a political and emotional minefield. When eighty two year old Edward Hill had come into the E.D today with a mass in his chest the last thing he had been expecting was resistance from the man's son. Instead he had been dragged into the conference room near Goodwin's office with both Connor, his superior Doctor Latham to discuss their options with the patient's family.
The legal implications of the situation had ruled in favor of the son, meaning that Eddie Hill would basically be left to die instead of receiving the operation that could potentially save his life. The knowledge of that was soul destroying, having his hands metaphorically tied was debilitating and he couldn't help but he feel intensely frustrated at the entire situation. He didn't understand how someone could be so callous to their own father, the son wasn't even willing to stick around and spend some time with the old man in his final hours.
He had tried his best, he had approached Eddie when he had been alone and tried to discuss the surgery with him, however his mind had been too fragile, his grasp on Ethan's words slipping as he progressed. By the time he'd started to make any progress with the older man, Eddie's son had appeared and read him the riot act.
When the worst had come, the son was nowhere to be seen. His father was unable to breath and when he did he was coughing up blood. Ethan had felt for Eddie Hill before that but at that time he grieved for him. It wasn't until tears were rolling down his cheeks and he uttered the words "Save me." that Ethan could respond to the situation the way he had originally wanted to. Eddie Hill was rushed upstairs into the O.R and was still undergoing surgery as far as he knew.
The sweet scent of warmed chocolate filled his nostrils as a white takeaway cup was jangled just under his nose. Automatically he reached out for it, his cold hands wrapping around it's soothing warmth as Connor took up residence along side of him, his hip lightly bumping against Ethan's.
There was a sense of comradely there between the two of them as they sat in silence for a second taking solace in each other's presence. Connor had really come through for him today, he had battled the lawyers, the son and the attending alongside him and Ethan could not verbally express how much that meant to him. He also knew he didn't need to, the two of them were on the same page when it came to their patients and although they may disagree with a course of treatment from time to time, they could never willingly leave someone to die. It was the reason Connor had backed him up in the E.D when Eddie had been begging for someone to save him.
"He made it through the surgery." Connor disclosed finally, his nimble fingers peeling the plastic lid away from the top of his cardboard cup. "We're supervising him but it seems he'll make a speedy recovery."
"What did Doctor Latham say?" Ethan asked, raising his cup to his mouth and taking a tentative sip. His eyebrows curved into a frown as he tasted the vanilla in hot chocolate. Already his muscles were unfurling as the hot sugary goodness hit his stressed system. He didn't remember telling Connor how he liked a sugar hit after a horrific day, he'd taken to drinking vanilla hot chocolate as a way to treat himself after one. The other man was more perceptive then Ethan gave him credit for.
"Nothing." Connor said, cover his palms with the sleeves of the black fleece that was covering his broad shoulders. "In his mind it was efficient to do the operation there and then, so we did."
"Simple as that huh?" Ethan said, his thumb teasing around the brown ripples of the cup cover.
"In Doctor Latham's case it really is." Connor supplied, tipping his head from side to side indecisively before seemly making his mind up. "I envy him sometimes, being able to turn off his emotions like that."
Ethan's thumb tapped out a tune as he stared ahead listlessly, looking without seeing.
"You wouldn't be you if you could turn off how you feel." he stated before slugging back his hot chocolate.
"I'm not sure of that's a good thing or a bad thing." Connor responded cryptically, his own eyes searching the sky as if looking for some form of answer.
"It's a good thing." Ethan stated frankly, cradling his cup to his chest, enjoying the blossoming of heat in his chest. "It's too easy to become disconnected sometimes, makes it harder for you to be around other people."
"Sounds like you have some experience with that." Connor commented dryly, sipping his own drink.
Ethan looked down away, fixing on something in the distance that Connor couldn't see.
"I guess I do." he found himself admitting. On some level he wanted Connor to know what he was going through, that none of the blame was on Connor himself. "It was hard to adjust when I got back home. It's difficult reconciling what you've seen with what's happening here."
"You ended up with PTSD." Connor stated, drawing his own conclusions.
"I thought if I didn't think or talk about it..." Ethan trailed off, his knee started to jangle as anxiety began to knot in his stomach. Connor placed a sympathetic hand upon his knee, stopping the vibrating limb in it's tracks. His thumb softly caressed the indent of the joint, rubbing across the fabric of the burgundy scrubs soothingly. "...I was having nightmares, I couldn't sleep."
"And now?" Connor prompted carefully.
"It's better." Ethan told him nodding his head in agreement before turning his head, locking stares with Connor, an expression of surprise upon his handsome features. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this."
"Sometimes it's good to talk." Connor told him, removing his hand from Ethan's knee so he could out the plastic lid from his takeaway cup inside of it.
"Yea." Ethan agreed, his dark gaze studying the profile of the handsome man sitting beside him with a sense of wonderment. "Sometimes it is."